


The Irritating Bits

by RurouniHime



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Community: kinkme_merlin, Crack, Humor, M/M, Not Wearing Underwear, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin's on a <i>very</i> necessary mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Irritating Bits

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt (http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/1108.html?thread=45908#t45908) and originally posted there.
> 
> Warning: Cracky, I suspect. And there is a spoiler for season 2, ep 9.

He did.

Or he didn’t.

 _Yes_ , he did. Yes, right there, that had to be a—

Or not.

Colin exhaled through his nose, craning his neck as Bradley kept up his very slight, very _irritating_ movement, just enough to be absolutely infuriating as far as close scrutiny of his ass went.

“Er.”

Angel looked up from her script, smiling in that patient little arc she was so good at. “Sorry, what?”

Colin shook his head at her, gestured at the same time, and kept one eye on Bradley’s backside. Angel’s brows came down. She shook her head and went back to her script with a muttered, “Colin.”

Yes, well. Scrutinizing Bradley’s ass couldn’t be helped. Colin had learned long ago that once he got some itchy notion in his mind, it would fester and twitch and chafe until he managed to get his hands on the answer, and damn Katie for dropping the question so very delicately into his overstuffed brain. He had lines to memorize! Stunts to injure himself with and a kissing scene to get his head around with a young woman he hadn’t even spoken to yet, though he was sure she was very nice.

And there went Katie, cramming trouble with a capital T into his head.

He hoped she got saddled with a kissing scene next episode. Jeremy could shove one in there right at the end, with a random stable boy, one who had expressly large teeth and a large wart, courtesy of make-up, just above his lip where she couldn’t miss it.

Yeah… Yeah. He was almost positive that Bradley wasn’t wearing anything under Arthur’s trou. Possibly. Stupid tunic hung too low, he couldn’t see the pull of the cloth well enough—

His chair toppled backward with a thump, spilling him ass over end onto the grass.

“Colin!” Angel gasped, leaping to her feet. She darted over and knelt, holding out one hand, covering her mouth with the other, and generally drawing attention where it was _not needed,_ thank you, Angel.

Bradley’s laugh rang out loud and clear.

……

To knicker or not to knicker? That was definitely the question. And Colin nearly snorted lettuce up his nose asking himself.

Bradley stopped in mid-chew and stared at him, jaw jutting out, right cheek puffed with un-masticated tuna melt. “Yes, when it comes down to it, you don’t actually inhale the salad, Colin,” he managed through his mouthful.

Colin finished his mediocre death scene on his side of the table, and when he righted himself, Bradley’s hand was out, offering his Fanta. Colin would have hesitated, but he really was going to die if he didn’t drink something in the next two seconds, so instead he got orange soda on his shirt and also down his throat, which was the point.

Bradley didn’t comment. He didn’t have to. His flat stare was comment enough.

“Oh, shut up,” Colin said.

Bradley leaned back, lifting his hands. “I didn’t say anything!”

“Did so.”

“Did not.”

“Did so times infinite.”

“Oh my lord, Colin, _what_ did you just say?”

Colin speared his murderous lettuce and glared it all the way to his mouth.

Bradley grinned. “Perhaps you’d like a cookie?” He patted Colin’s arm and got up, disentangling himself from the bench. “Don’t you fret, I’ll get you one.”

And then he turned around and gave Colin the best view of his ass that he had all day.

Lettuce may have fallen out of Colin’s mouth. A little. Bradley strode gallantly for the catering table, arm raised as if holding a banner, breaking into a hop-skip as he went and finally calling “Forth, Eorlingas!”

Fucking baggy jeans.

……

Stalking Bradley’s ass in Costuming would be cheating.

Well. Colin never claimed to be a saint.

Bradley _did_ give him a funny look when he found him in the left dressing cubicle instead of his usual right. “Change of scene?”

Colin nodded, and then got the entendre and shoved Bradley. “Other one’s being used.”

“Alas,” Bradley said, coming in and pulling the curtain shut behind him. Colin, who had prepared many a fib focused on getting Bradley to share the cubicle instead of waiting outside, got a little bit lost.

Bradley stripped off his footie shirt, handed it to Colin, and tugged Arthur’s new black tunic over his head. “Umph. Don’t suppose my head’s not meant to fit through, do you?”

Colin clutched Bradley’s shirt, still warm from his body heat, in both hands. And nodded. Then shook his head. Whichever was right. Bradley started trying to extricate himself, much more gingerly. His hips swayed in front of Colin’s eyes as he wrestled with the garment, back and forth, a little jerk here, a tiny circle there… The waistline of his jeans hung at Bradley’s hips, baring his navel and the indents where his legs began.

“Colin?” Miranda called from outside. “How about that doublet?”

“Not loose enough,” Colin said absently, and then Bradley was out of the tunic and giving it his best princely scowl.

“What?” Miranda sounded puzzled. “It was made to be a little large on you!”

Bradley leaned over and peered at the doublet Colin still wore, then up at Colin. Colin dropped Bradley’s t-shirt out of lack of anything else to do.

“I mean, it’s too loose! Sorry, sorry.”

Bradley shook his head at him. Colin jerked the doublet off, and Bradley took it, handing both garments back over the wall. “Mine _is_ too tight, though,” he called. “Neckline’s much too small.”

They heard a sigh. “Bloody hell, second season and the measurements are still wrong.” Miranda’s footsteps receded.

Colin realized they were both bare-chested and whipped around to find his next item of clothing. And put it on backwards. And got stuck in the buttons— why, why the hell did it have buttons anyway?

Bradley got awfully close.

“Here, wait— Colin, _stop_. For Pete’s sake.” He maneuvered the shirt around Colin’s torso and carefully plucked his hair free from the buttons. Smoothed the material over Colin’s shoulders. Leaned back and looked at it critically. “Not a bad color. How’s the fit?”

 _Not as bad as your jeans,_ Colin wanted to say.

Miranda came back in a hurry. “All right, they’re adjusting that neckline, Bradley. Have a go at that jacket, please.”

So Bradley did, and Colin tried on a third shirt. Bradley tried another jacket, and then a shift, and then a gold embroidered vest, and by that time, Colin was out of new clothes.

Colin managed ten more minutes in the same dressing room as Bradley, offering feedback on the lay of each jacket, the fit of each shirt, and not once— not _once_ — did Bradley try on any new trousers.

……

Maybe if he just pulled Bradley’s trousers down himself. But, no. Colin was comfortable with the fact that he didn’t get his kicks by pantsing other people, even if he did have an itchy notion festering, and besides, he didn’t think Bradley would appreciate it, not even in a friendly, pranky way.

Besides, besides: _Colin_ wanted to know if Bradley liked going commando. He didn’t want everyone _else_ to know. Or see. Or gawk. Or appreciate things a little too much. Colin had plenty of appreciation to go around, thank you.

If anyone was even _thinking_ about Bradley’s pants other than Colin, well. They’d be in line for a pleasant dousing, compliments of the lake he was filming his scenes at today.

Bradley either wore pants or he didn’t. The nice thing was that he couldn’t go halfway on it. One did not ‘sort of’ wear pants on a daily basis. Colin, for instance, definitely wore them, unless he was wearing very tight trousers, which he never did, so, yeah. Bradley might actually wear very tight trousers; he wasn’t the sort of bloke to feel uncomfortable in such articles of clothing. Ergo, it was possible, nay, probable, that there was, in fact, nothing underneath, nothing between Bradley’s skin and the rest.

Colin would have been quite satisfied with his use of the scientific method if it had actually got him some concrete results.

It occurred to him part way through take five that he could just ask Bradley to drop trou and show him. After all, Colin would do just about anything _Bradley_ asked.

Within reason.

Within Colin’s reason, not Bradley’s. Bradley had a very different sort of brain from Colin and Colin wasn’t exactly sure how it worked some of the time.

Hmm.

He tried anyway.

“You ever thought about not wearing…” And got that far.

Bradley was sweaty from his bouts with Andreas, hair sticking up and mouth open, still huffing, halfway out of his bloody armor and staring at Colin, waiting for the end of the question. “Not wearing…?”

He pulled his chainmail over his head, tugging up all the clothing underneath and baring his stomach and half his chest for Colin to see.

“You want to get dinner?” Colin wheezed.

Bradley liberated himself from the padded tunic, and then the regular tunic. “What happens in your brain when those thoughts don’t finish, Colin? Are there bunnies?”

Colin smacked him. Bradley smacked him back. Colin flailed at him, Bradley laughed, Colin laughed, and Bradley wrestled him under one comfortable arm. “Come on, Colin. Time to feed those starving brain cells.”

……

And eventually, Colin was back in Bradley’s trailer, and he had no idea how or why. Honestly, he hadn’t even tried to finagle it this time! He’d just been following Bradley, basically, right up behind him as he mounted the steps to the door, bent over and peering intently at the waistline of Bradley’s jeans as it continually swung in and out of view under his shirt, just trying to torture it with his glare until it finally gave up the ghost and _told_ him what he wanted to know ( _are_ you hiding _pants_ under there, don’t _lie_ to me!), so very close behind Bradley that when Bradley spun around just inside the door, Colin nearly got a faceful of his pelvis, and then nearly fell backward down the stairs.

Bradley grabbed him by the arm, saving him from certain death, then dragged him inside and pushed him down onto the couch. “Okay, Colin. You have been acting just a little weirder than usual the past few days. The moment of truth has arrived.”

“Don’t know what you mean.” Colin even managed an innocent expression.

Bradley leaned over, right into Colin’s face. “You’ve been staring manically at certain _things_ all week! Angel confided that she’s in fear for her life, Katie keeps snickering at me, and I don’t think Gordon enjoyed stumbling into the lake with his arms full of light bulbs! So what is the big deal?”

“I’m just curious!” Colin retorted. He gestured as wildly as he could with both arms, in every direction imaginable. “Inquiring minds want to know! The other shoe has to drop! My chair fell over!”

“Which caused no small amount of brain damage,” Bradley fired back. “ _What?_ Just spit it out, for crying out loud! Before you fall off a horse or somersault all the way down the tower stairs or get irretrievably stuck in your costume!”

“It’s. Your. I wanted. Katie said, and. I’ve tried and I can’t see at all!” No, there definitely weren’t bunnies.

Bradley, however, was watching his face, which seemed to be communicating much more intelligibly. Colin couldn’t help it if he happened to be staring at Bradley’s groin. Bloody subject matter and all that. Bradley’s face went a touch red, and he blinked several times. Licked his lips.

Then became Bradley James again. “Oh for god’s sake, Colin.” He rolled his eyes. “If you wanted to see my ass, all you had to do was say.”

He spun around. _Clink_ went his belt, _Zzzzzip!_ went his fly, and Colin got mooned because Bradley most definitely was not wearing pants.

It was kind of cute, how shell-shocked Bradley looked when he turned around again, because he was always doing things before they really caught up with him. But Colin was busy basking in the revelation and trying not to asphyxiate. “I knew it,” he wheezed. “I knew you didn’t wear them! _I knew_.”

A new light clicked on in Bradley’s eyes. He reached forward and yanked Colin off the couch, up against his chest. “And now you can answer my similar question,” Bradley said, smirking. Still looking a little nervous.

Then he kissed him. Bradley James kissed Colin Morgan. Without any pants on.

And oh, Colin was all over _that_.

~fin~


End file.
